


Your Kiss is Sweeter

by Taryo88



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi has a Cake Related Crisis, Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29054541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taryo88/pseuds/Taryo88
Summary: Three and a half weeks ago, Keiji had begun a meticulous search for the perfect Christmas cake, one that would absolutely blow Osamu and his highly-developed chef’s taste-buds out of the water. The weight of their first Christmas together as a couple weighed on Keiji’s shoulders, but he refused to cave under the pressure.Today, Keiji is met with icing that is inexplicably crunchy, a long list of No’s, taste-buds that have become desensitized to the taste of strawberries (taste-buds that, in all honesty, didn’t have the palate for this venture from the start), and four days until Christmas Eve with no stand-out prospects in sight.-----------It's early in their relationship, it's Christmas Eve, and all Keiji wants is to find a cake good enough for his boyfriend.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	Your Kiss is Sweeter

**Author's Note:**

> I had the idea for this on Christmas day, immediately after posting my last OsaAka fic, so sorry for the now out of season fic, lol. I hope you enjoy this little bit of fluff anyway!

Keiji exits his fifth disappointing Tokyo bakery of the day and pulls out the worn list from inside his pocket. 

~~_26\. Icing is grainy; unpleasant to eat._ ~~

~~_27\. Christmas cake pre-orders already sold out._ ~~

~~_28\. Too dense; not very refreshing._ ~~

_29._

The empty line reserved for the store he just exited mocks him from the page. Keiji takes his pen and scribbles through the slot without writing a word. The rest of the list looks much the same, with only a few of the numbered items that haven’t already been crossed out. Why on Earth had he ever thought it would be a fine idea to date a chef? 

A month ago, he and Osamu had settled on a non-traditional Christmas Eve date. With Onigiri Miya open for most of the day on Christmas Eve, plus the travel time from Osaka to Tokyo, they would only get a few hours together on the day itself. So, they had planned for nothing more than take-out and a movie on Keiji’s couch, and a trip to the Christmas market the next day.

Three and a half weeks ago, Keiji had begun a meticulous search for the perfect Christmas cake, one that would absolutely blow Osamu and his highly-developed chef’s taste-buds out of the water. The weight of their first Christmas together as a couple weighed on Keiji’s shoulders, but he refused to cave under the pressure. 

Today, Keiji is met with icing that is inexplicably crunchy, a long list of No’s, taste-buds that have become desensitized to the taste of strawberries (taste-buds that, in all honesty, didn’t have the palate for this venture from the start), and four days until Christmas Eve with no stand-out prospects in sight. 

Keiji is out of time; he needs to order today if he wants to actually have a cake for their date. Another glance through the list shows one entry that he placed a star next to. The bakery came highly recommended by the people in Keiji’s office, and he hadn’t had any major complaints when he taste-tested the weekend before. It’ll have to do. He’ll just have to trust that his coworkers have better taste for baked goods than he does. 

* * *

“Merry Christmas, Keiji.” Osamu says, smile warm and cheeks rosy pink, most likely from the winter air. 

“Merry Christmas, Osamu.”

They’re sitting at the low coffee table in Keiji’s living room, freshly made tea served, cakes exchanged, and placed on Keiji’s nicest plates. Keiji’s nerves, which he thought he had tamed with his methodical search for the perfect cake, splinter all over again as he looks at the cake Osamu placed in front of him. 

When Keiji opened the door for Osamu on Christmas Eve, the first thing he noticed was the box in his boyfriend’s hands. He was appalled at himself for being unable to look away from it, considering how unfairly attractive Osamu looked as he stepped in and took off his shoes. His long, thick legs were accented by tight patterned pants, broad shoulders strained against his fitted jacket as he lined up his shoes in the entryway. Keiji hardly noticed. 

In size and shape and color and everything that should matter, the box was exactly the same as the one the bakery packaged Keiji’s cake in, except for one major, glaring difference that started Keiji's anxiety ringing alarm bells. Osamu’s box had no discernible bakery logo. Osamu baked him this cake himself.

Now that the cake is out in the open, one glance at it nearly takes Keiji’s breath away. It’s stunning.There are no fancy decorations, no gold leaf or sugar work like Keiji had seen on display all over the multitude of bakeries he visited, but it’s beautiful nonetheless. The icing is dark and perfectly smooth, not a smudge or a stroke to be seen. On the top is a dusting of cocoa powder and along the rounded edge “Merry Christmas” is written in white icing. A piped heart at the end of the statement ties it all together, and Keji feels like melting. It’s perfect and he’s scared to take a bite, to put even a scratch on something so delicate, something made _just for him_ with such care. 

Osamu is already reaching for his fork, but Keiji clasps his own hands together tightly in his lap. There’s an _itadakimasu_ about to fall out of Osamu’s mouth and crash right into the delicate threads of Keiji's confidence that decorate the bakery treat on the table. Keiji cuts him off before he can.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bake yours myself.” The words freeze Osamu in his tracks, and Keiji feels stupid. He’s never done this before, weighted down a gift with heavy qualifiers, usually much more content to let the gesture stand on its own. There’s just something about this gift that slicks his palms with sweat. “I’ve never really been good at baking.” He itches to tug at his thumbs, to ring the nervousness out of himself through his fingers. “I hope it tastes alright.”

Osamu’s startled eyes move from Keiji’s face back down to the cake in front of him. When he looks back at Keiji, he smiles. “It looks delicious, I’m sure it’ll be great.” 

The fork is still in his hand, but now he doesn’t move to take a bite. He’s staring across the table at the cake he made, silent. 

“It’s uh, not exactly the cake I wanted to make ya,” Osamu says finally, rubbing at the back of his neck, “I was gonna make it more the typical Christmas cake, but Atsumu came over yesterday and ate all the strawberries before I could stop him, so I hope you like chocolate.”

The memory of dozens of taster plates of vanilla and strawberry nearly bulldozes Keiji. He never thought he’d be so relieved by the prospect of chocolate. “That’s probably for the best.” He says. It earns him a raised eyebrow from Osamu, but there is no part of Keiji that is ready to admit just how many slices of cake he’s eaten in the past weeks. “I like chocolate,” he amends. 

“I’m glad,” Osamu says. He smiles at Keiji again before looking down at his own cake. It’s a small white cake, the sides are left bare, revealing the strawberries in between the layers, and sugar work baubles decorate the icing on top. The design is trendy and grandiose and Keiji almost can’t stand to look at it now that it sits on the table next to the straightforward, effectively attractive homemade treat. Osamu seems to have no such qualms. “Are we allowed to eat now? Or should we spend another fifteen minutes apologizing for our cakes?”

Keiji snorts. He forces fingers to unclench underneath the table and picks up his own fork. “I think just another five minutes apologizing would be more than sufficient, actually.” He makes no attempt to follow through with his sarcasm, though. Instead, he lets Osamu’s laughter coat his frayed nerves, takes a large scoop of cake off the side of his treat, and pops it into his mouth.

It’s heaven. Keiji isn’t one for sweets, only preferring them on special occasions and not particularly craving them like some people do. This, though. He could eat the whole thing and still want more.

He chances a glance at Osamu to compliment his baking and catches him right as he takes a bite of the store bought cake. 

Keiji’s heart sinks. 

On a normal day, Osamu has a poker face that could rival a statue’s. When he’s eating, however, he’s an open book. And right now, he looks...underwhelmed. Maybe that’s not entirely right. He clearly thinks the cake is good, but he thinks all food is _good_ and Keiji had been trying so hard to give him something _spectacular_. 

“How is it?” Keiji asks. 

Osamu pauses before taking his next bite to respond. “It’s good! Really good!” 

There’s no lie in his voice. There’s just no amazement either. 

“May I try a bite?” 

He hates to ask. He hates not knowing more. Osamu nudges the plate closer without protest. Keiji takes one small forkful and. 

Bland. It’s so bland. And dry too. Especially when compared to the smooth icing and rich flavor that defines Osamu’s homemade cake. 

“Oh no, I can’t let you eat this,” Keiji says, snatching the cake away from Osamu before he can react. 

“What?” The confusion on Osamu’s face is comical, really. The way his fork floats uselessly in the air, centimeters from where the cake was moments ago, doesn’t help. 

“It’s not good.” 

“What are you talking about? Yes it is!” 

Osamu tries to coax the backstabbing lump that Keiji _used_ to think was a cake out of his hands, but Keiji utilizes his long limbs to hold the plate as far away from Osamu as possible. 

“Keiji-” It’s exasperated and so fond and this man would probably eat dirt if Keiji put it on a plate and said _for you_ , but-

“No. Your cake is delicious and this is a disgrace, I refuse to let you have it.”

“I think it tastes good!”

“Absolutely not.”

The argument is light and only lasts until Osamu nearly knocks their tea onto the carpet before he gives up on trying to grab the cake back, dropping his arms to the table in defeat. Keiji registers the white flag and takes the opportunity to set the cake down firmly at the farthest end of the table. Without wasting any more time, he scoots his own plate closer to Osamu. He slides himself over as well, close enough that their knees press firmly together. Keiji glances at Osamu and is met with curiosity and a pleased flush.

“We’ll share yours.” It’s not a question or a demand. It’s just a fact.

Osamu rolls his eyes good-naturedly, “Actually, it was a gift, so really it’s yers.”

“Semantics,” Keiji huffs. “Yours, mine, does it really matter? Let’s just agree that it’s ours now and enjoy some cake.”

“What’s yours is mine, huh?” Osamu’s knee presses more firmly into Keiji’s as he leans into his space, “Should probably wait at least until next Christmas before ya start proposing to me.”

Keiji turns away, resolutely ignoring his heated blush at the implication, and scoops up another large bite of chocolate on his fork, “Stop teasing me and eat some cake before I finish it all without you.” 

Osamu’s laugh is as rich as the cake he made and does nothing to cool Keiji’s cheeks. 

It’s not the most typical Christmas Eve date. They settle into a rhythm, shoulders brushing, forks clinking together every few bites, telling stories about their days. They end the night pressed closer together, sharing the taste of chocolate on their lips, and when Osamu promises to teach Keiji to bake the next time they’re together, Keiji figures that maybe the bakery cake wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


End file.
